


Priests Don't Cry

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Altar Sex, Blasphemy, Doomed Timeline(s) (Fire Emblem: Awakening), Drinking, Drunk Sex, F/F, Heavy Angst, Oral Sex, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Female Character, trans!Severa, trans!lucina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: “Might I kiss you?”Severa stares.“To kiss a priest is a sin,” she murmurs. “I am betrothed to the lord Naga.”Lucina reaches up her hand to brush Severa’s chin, drawing her closer. She tastes like warmth, sweetness,and the sharp dryness of Feroxi wine. “Then I must confess, priest, that I am a sinner.”“All men are,” Severa mutters, kissing her back.
Relationships: Lucina/Serena | Severa
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Priests Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, I missed writing these two. It feels like it's been so long lmao
> 
> Anyway! this is a solid 50/50 angst/smut ratio, so. Gestures vaguely. Hope you enjoy!

Severa stands at the front of the church, gazing at the altar. It’s hard to be a priest when you aren’t sure there’s a god. 

She thinks about that sometimes, penning sermons in her apartments, resting her hand on the heads of penitents, taking confessions, offering sacraments. 

She had never wanted this life. She wanted to be a soldier, like her mother. A pegasus knight in the service of the Exalt. But war has a way of interrupting plans. 

She sighs and clasps her hands together, murmuring some prayer she’s said a thousand times, in the shadow of the church. It’s late, now, and dark. It’s always dark, these days. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance, somewhere, dark and tumultuous. It’s always dark, and always thundering. 

Ylisstol is quiet. 

When Severa was a child, her father would read her stories from a big weathered tome, stories of adventurers and knights and pirates and bandits, stories of love and conquest and mysteries and victory. In one, she recalls, a great merchant ship was sunk by a storm. As the hull of the ship dips below the waves, one of the crew musicians plays a violin. 

She thinks about that story a lot, as she stands at the pulpit, watching the congregation dwindle. When she first took up the mantle of priest, she was frightened of her duty. She would stare at the congregation, the sea of tired eyes and weary faces, shabby clothes and dented armor. Soldiers attended services, then. Men with bandaged faces and missing limbs, desperate for any sort of comfort she and the divine could give to them. It was frightening to have that burden placed on her.

And she would stand at the pulpit, or the altar, or walk down to the pews, and she would think about the reports of her father, dying in the dunes.

Severa sighs again, and kneels. It’s not really a prayer. She’s not penitent, she’s not loving. Naga does not ask much of her, but it’s easy to feel like she’s failing all the same. 

The soldiers in the congregation dwindled. Sent back to the front, or succumbing to their wounds, or fleeing. Desertion was a big problem, and Severa remembers walking the streets to market and hearing whispers. The war is futile, that much is known. The great fell beast in the west, its wings of black and its breath of fire. The power to level cities, to burn forests. Men who saw the Fell Dragon had a look in their eyes; an animal fear that made Severa’s skin crawl.

She took confession from men from the front. Men distraught over the things they had done, the things they continue to do. The six red eyes that haunt their dreams. And Severa would nod, and assure them that they are forgiven, and she would wonder if her father would repent for the things he did in Plegia, too. 

In the present, in the shadowed recesses of the empty church, Severa unties her long tails of hair and lets them splay across her back, shining blonde in the half-light. She makes the slow trek past the pulpit, past the altar, slipping through the door into the sacristy. 

She remembers helping her father prepare for services here, and now she wraps her arms around herself and shivers. It’s cold in the church. It used to be warm, and light, even though she didn’t really believe in Naga when she was a kid, either. 

It seems strange to believe in a god with no power. At least the Grimleal get proof of their faith. 

Severa crosses the sacristy and kneels. There’s a wooden case there, a wine cabinet for storing the sacramental wine. 

Once she got in trouble for prying the door open to sip some. It was nasty, and not worth the verbal lashing from her father. She remembers her father chastising her for it while her mother sat behind him, stifling her giggles.

Severa slips her key into the rusty metal lock and scrapes it open.

There are still a few bottles left. She picks one up and turns it over, running her hand over the dusty label. It smells like dust. Everything smells like dust, like wood rot and ash. She sets the bottle down and stares at the cabinet. 

The wine is sickeningly sweet, thick and cloying as it runs down her throat. Feroxi wine had that quality - the Feroxi people never did anything halfway, wine included. Back when Feroxi was still a place. 

She drinks slowly, slumped down in a wooden bench in the sacristy, watching the half-light from the window fade into night. 

The congregation disappeared slowly. Families leaving, fleeing for the coast. Soldiers, too. Before long the holes in the pews were unmissable, and Severa could not lie to herself any longer. The only attendees to service were the sick and elderly, those that are unable to make the journey to look for refuge. 

The ship sinks, and she plays her violin.

What do you tell a congregation in a doomed city? Do you lie to them about the blood running in the fields, about the soldiers with hollow eyes telling stories of monsters, about the slow dissolution of society? Do you tell them it’s Naga’s will? 

Libra would have known what to tell them. But he, too, fell in that forsaken desert. Was that Naga’s will? Was it Naga’s will that Severa become a priest at the tender age of sixteen, a mere child tasked with the burden of a nation? If it was, what does that say about Naga?

What good is a god that cannot save a single man? 

Severa drinks, slowly and deeply, letting the drink seep into her veins. She finishes the first bottle and opens a second. 

It was no comfort that she was permitted to see her mother’s body. Her face was peaceful, serene as she laid in her coffin. Severa had put flowers on her, and on her grave. It was hard to believe the reports of her death, hard to reconcile it with the gentle woman resting in a wooden pinebox. 

Severa picks up her half-finished bottle and walks out of the sacristy back into the church. She takes another swig and sets the bottle down on the altar. A sin, if there’s anyone to witness it. 

She lights some of the candles with a small box of wooden matches. When she was in school, she’d practice fire spells, but her father forbid her from ever using magic in the church. 

Wind howls outside, slipping through the broken stained-glass windows and the meager attempt at boarding them up. It’s cold, and Severa is thankful for the weight of her priest robes. She picks up her bottle and sits on the steps to the altar, staring down the rows of dark pews. She frowns.

“Hello?” she asks, her voice booming in the quiet. It echoes. 

There is a figure at the back of the church, sitting in a pew. The figure is slight, barely visible in the darkness.

Severa sets her bottle of wine on the stairs and steps out into the pews, picking up a candle and carrying it into the darkness as she goes. “Hello?” she repeats again. “I’m sorry, the church is closed until tomorrow morning.”

“Can you make an exception?” comes a weary, sheepish grin. The young king sits in the last pew, her hands folded on her lap.

Severa’s mouth gapes. “Oh, my king,” she stammers. “Yes, yes, of course. Please, come forward, if you wish.”

“I really don’t,” the king says, pushing herself up. Her hair falls in blue tangles over her shoulder, draping over the gold trim of her tunic. She’s not wearing her cloak, Severa notices. 

“Are you not cold, my king?” 

“Please, just…” she shakes her head. “Please just call me Lucina.”

“Are you cold, Lucina?” Severa asks softly as Lucina walks past her. 

Lucina nods. 

She walks down the length of the church and sits in a pew at the front, in the light of the flickering candles of the pulpit and the altar. 

Severa follows, cautiously, wine buzzing in her head.

“Are you alright, my king?” she asks quietly. “It’s late.” 

Lucina stares at the altar. “I thought I’d come pray,” she says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Severa can feel Lucina watching her as she sits on the stairs again, considering reaching for the sacramental wine she had set down. Behaving like such in front of the king would be tantamount to treason, at any other time. Fortunately, the king and the priest have known each other since childhood. 

Severa sips the wine cautiously and motions, offering it to Lucina, who declines. 

The wind rattles the windows. 

Severa stares at her quickly dwindling bottle, regarding it with something like disdain. 

“Severa?” Lucina asks quietly. 

“Hm?” Severa looks up. “Yes, child?” 

Lucina cracks a forced smile. “You’re younger than me.”

“We’re all children of Naga,” Severa retorts, setting the bottle down and standing up. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Lucina nods. “I know it’s late, but...would you take confession?” 

Severa frowns at her. “Of course. Anything for the king.” 

“N-no,” Lucina shakes her head. “I...I don’t want to confess as the king. I want to confess as...as your friend.” 

Severa lifts her eyebrows curiously and nods. “Very well. Come along.” 

The confessional booth is quiet, more or less unused for weeks on end. Severa stares at the open book in front of her, though the words blur. She’s buzzing with wine and sneaks sips while Lucina speaks from behind the confessional screen.

“Forgive me, priest. I have sinned.”

“You are forgiven.”

“I have…” Lucina swallows. “I have been lax in my prayers.”

“You have been under a lot of stress, my king.”

“I...I have been distracted from my holy duties as king.”

“Distracted?” 

Lucina slides the screen open and leans on it, staring curiously at Severa. “May I speak to you plainly, priest?”

Severa, mid-drink, sets her wine down somewhat guiltily. “Of course, my king.”

“Severa.”

“Lucina.”

“I…” Lucina tilts her eyes down, staring at the darkness around her feet. It’s dim, in the confessional booth. Flickering candles and shadow. “I’m afraid, Severa.” She doesn’t look up as she speaks. “The council made their decision. I’m being sent to the front.” She looks up, her eyes dark and sad. “To Plegia.”

“When?”

“In the morning.”

Severa is quiet. She isn’t quite sure what to make of it. It’s less a confession and more a fact. 

“I…” Lucina laughs sourly. “Forgive me my sins, but I’ve thought about desertion.”

“Desertion?” Severa looks up, furrowing her brow. “Abandoning your duty is a sin. And treason, to boot. It’s-”

“Execution, if I’m caught,” Lucina nods. “I know.”

“Would you really be so cowardly?” 

“Do you know what’s happening out there?” Lucina leans on the screen, her face twisting into a pained scowl, something between anger and fear. “Do you hear what the soldiers say?”

“I do.”

“It’s genocide, Severa. It’s…” Lucina shakes her head and throws her hands up. “It’s slaughter on both sides.” She blinks, and in the dimness Severa can’t tell if she’s crying. 

“My father died there. Your father died there. I’ve…” she sniffles. Ah, there are the tears. “I’ve been dreaming of sand,” Lucina says. “Running and running, and sand filling my boots, and the Fell Dragon behind me, and I run until my legs burn, and they give out, and I collapse, and-” She wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t want to die, Severa. I’m...I’m afraid.”

Severa is quiet for a long while. 

What is there to say? She has heard the stories. Plegia is a death sentence, sure as execution. The Ylissean army is full of deserters who would risk the ire of their own nation rather than fight the Grimleal. And who could blame them?

Rumors of blood magic, black magic. Beasts of reanimated flesh, walking corpses astride dead wyverns. Some of them say that the Risen retain consciousness - the dead linger inside, somewhere, awake until they turn to dust. 

What would they do to the King and her divine blood? 

Severa picks up her wine and offers it to Lucina, who accepts. They slump back against the confessional booth, each on their own side, each lost in thoughts and the darkness of the night. Lucina drinks deeply and passes the bottle back through the screen. 

“Severa,” Lucina says quietly.

“Yes, my...yes, Lucina?” 

“If...If I left, would you come with me?”

Severa’s hands are shaking. She blinks, trying very hard to pretend like she’s not crying. She’s not. Priests don’t cry. Priests don’t break down like this. It’s not fair, to shoulder the burden of her people. Her nation. She takes their sorrows, their pain, their fears, and she swallows it. She absolves them of their sins, and they burden her with their troubles, until her spine caves. They walk away, and she remains. A priest and the pain of her people. She voices their pain to Naga, and Naga never speaks. Naga never speaks.

“You can’t ask me that,” Severa says. “You know you can’t ask me that.”

“Severa…”

“It’s not fair,” Severa curls her hand into a shaking fist in her lap. “You know it’s not fair.”

“Please, Severa.”

When Severa looks up, she can see Lucina curled up on the confessional bench, her arms around her legs. 

“Please.”

“Cowardice is a sin.”

“I…” Lucina breathes. “I know. I know.” 

“What would your father think?”

Lucina buries her face into her knees. “Please, don’t-”

“You don’t get to ask me if I will go with you,” Severa says angrily. “That’s not fair. You have a duty, my king.” 

“To whom?” Lucina shouts, standing up. “To whom do I have a duty? What people remain to protect?”

“The soldiers,” Severa says quietly, and she takes another drink. 

“Farmers, children.” 

“Then even more do they require your protection.” 

Lucina storms out of the booth and slams the door behind her. 

Severa sighs, finishes her drink, and leaves the empty bottle next to the open scripture she didn’t even glance at. She pushes herself up onto unsteady feet and closes the door behind her as she departs. 

She find Lucina standing at the foot of the altar, staring up at the graven image of Naga - a beautiful woman, the delicate carved rock her raiment. She stares out at the empty church, unblinking. 

Severa steps to Lucina’s side. 

“Do you believe in Naga?” Lucina asks.

Severa is silent as she shakes her head. 

“I’ve thought about how unfair it is,” Lucina admits, climbing the stairs towards the altar. “The Grimleal see their god. They pray, and their god rains fire and death upon their enemies.” She blinks and wipes her eyes. “I prayed every day that my father would return from Plegia, and...and he didn’t. I pray, and pray, and she’s silent.” Lucina sniffles. “Is it me, priest? Did I do something to make her deaf to my cries?”

Severa retrieves another bottle of sacramental wine from the sacristy. Her motions are sluggish, hazy. Drunk, that’s the word. She’s drunk. 

“Naga is stupid,” she mutters, her words half-slurred. “She created perfection, and ignores her.”

“What?” Lucina frowns and looks up as Severa totters out of the sacristy. 

“I mean, if I were a god, I’d sure give you whatever you wanted.”

Lucina isn’t sure what to say to that. 

Severa shrugs. “All I have to give is this Feroxi wine, though.” She passes it to Lucina. “Maybe Naga will listen if your blood is blessed.” 

“My blood  _ is _ blessed,” Lucina drinks. 

Severa jumps up on the altar and sits, bouncing her legs against it. “See what I mean, though? It’s bullshit that Naga won’t listen to you. Like, I understand her not listening to  _ me _ . I wouldn’t listen to me either.” 

Lucina climbs up at her side and they take turns drinking from the bottle. “Why not?” 

“Because I’m full of horseshit,” Severa says doubtfully. “My father taught me all the prayers, and all the scripture, and what good did it do him? I’m sure he prayed, too. All the soldiers pray.” She lifts her bottle in the direction of Naga’s image. “If Naga does exist, she is powerless. And I don’t know why I should have faith in a god that would allow the world to turn to an ocean of shit.” 

Lucina shrugs and takes another long drink. “Maybe we all have the wrong idea about divinity.”

Severa laughs. “No, I think Grima qualifies as a god.” 

Lucina stares at her, surprised. No one invokes the name of the Fell Dragon, certainly not in the holy houses of Naga. 

“I think it’s the opposite,” she suggests. “I mean, Grima exists, right? The Grimleal pray to him, but...it’s not prayer. It’s just asking them to do something. Like, if I asked you to do something, and you did it, is that a prayer?” 

Severa frowns. “I...I don’t know. I guess it depends on what you asked me to do.” She stops herself midway through taking a drink. “Do not ask me to desert with you.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Lucina snatches the bottle from her. 

“What, then?” Severa grins. “What prayers would a king have for a charlatan like me?” 

“Hm,” Lucina says into the almost-empty bottle. “I could pray that you be frank with me. Like when we were children. Not priest, not king.”

“Equals, then.”

“Equals.”

Lucina swirls the last mouthful of wine in the bottle. “What about you? If you prayed to me?”

Severa chuffs a laugh. “Oh, so many things. For one, that you stop drinking all my wine.”

Lucina overturns the bottle and a drip falls out onto the altar. “Too late.” 

“Fine,” Severa scowls. “I wish that you would speak plainly, as well. What do you wish me to do?” 

“About what?” 

“Are you serious about deserting?” 

Lucina drops the bottle and it lands with a thud on the carpet, rolling away from the altar. “I...I don’t know.” She sighs. “Severa, would...would you come with me? Wherever I go. Ferox, or Valm. East, to the sea. Or…” she swallows. “Or to Plegia.” To the sands of death.

“I would,” Severa nods. “To the ends of the Earth, my king. Always.” 

“Might I pray for one more thing?” Lucina asks. Severa is aware of the flush in her cheeks, the warm of their legs, touching. 

“Anything,” Severa says. “Anything that is mine to give is yours.” 

“Might I kiss you?” 

Severa stares. 

“To kiss a priest is a sin,” she murmurs. “I am betrothed to the lord Naga.”

Lucina reaches up her hand to brush Severa’s chin, drawing her closer. She tastes like warmth, sweetness, and the sharp dryness of Feroxi wine. “Then I must confess, priest, that I am a sinner.” 

“All men are,” Severa mutters, kissing her back. She slips her tongue between Lucina’s lips, into the soft of her mouth. 

Lucina reaches up to grasp the back of Severa’s head, to tug her tighter, kiss her harder. Severa melts in her embrace upon the altar and kisses her back. 

Her body is numbness, buzzing with wine and Lucina’s touch, the only burning warmth in the cold and empty church. Severa wraps her arms around Lucina, holds her tight, kisses her, kisses her, kisses her. Lips to lips, lips to cheek, nose, eyes, ears. Everything, every feature of her kingly face. Severa kisses the tears from her eyes as Lucina cries, twining their bodies together. 

“Severa,” Lucina mutters as Severa kisses the angle of her jaw. 

“Yes?” Severa breathes into her neck. She kisses her, and then bites, sinking teeth into flesh above Lucina’s high collar.

“I...I need you,” Lucina mutters, clutching Severa’s head against her neck. “I need you.”

“I know,” Severa tilts her face up and kisses Lucina’s lips. 

Lucina lays down atop the altar and Severa straddles her, following her with kisses. Her breath is hot on Lucina’s face, and she presses her tongue between Lucina’s lips, brushing against her tongue. Lucina’s moans are muffled by Severa’s mouth, hot and wet and delicate. Severa ruts herself against Lucina, groaning into her. 

“S-Severa,” Lucina breathes, clutching Severa close when her tongue recedes. “Severa, oh, gods…”

Severa whimpers and tucks her face against Lucina’s neck. “Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. 

Lucina’s hand fumbles downwards, brushing Severa’s shaking torso, her hips, until she grasps a handhold on Severa’s priestly garb, the small of her back. 

Lucina grabs her as Severa rubs against her, shifting to twine their legs. She can feel the heat of Lucina’s arousal against her thigh, and she knows Lucina can feel the same. 

“Lucina,” Severa groans. She snakes a hand down, from Lucina’s hair to her chest, tracing fingers down the narrow, slender curve of her stomach. She can feel ribs through the thin fabric of her tunic, a too-slender stomach, evidence of months of rationing. But her thin body is warm, and Severa tucks her hand under Lucina’s tunic, into the warmth between her legs. 

She can feel the stiffness of Lucina’s cock through the soft, sturdy fabric of her leggings. Her fingers dance delicately against it, rubbing her through the fabric, touching the wetness pooling in the fabric. 

“S-Severa,” Lucina groans at the touch. “Please.” It’s not a command so much as a plea. A beg. 

Severa pulls her lips from Lucina’s neck and kisses her kingly chest, her taut stomach, and she lifts Lucina’s tunic to kiss the head of her cock through the fabric. 

“Sev,” Lucina mutters, snagging her hands in Severa’s long, crimson hair. “Please,” she begs again. 

Severa tucks her fingers into the hem of Lucina’s leggings and tugs down. Her cotton shorts are soaked where her cock nestles, stiff and wet. Severa peels back the last layer and Lucina gasps as her hot cock is exposed to the cool night air. Severa groan and ruts against Lucina’s leg. 

She smells like sweat and heat, and Severa takes her into her mouth. Her skin is salty and hot and sticky, and Severa gently bobs her head up and down, one hand grasping the shaft of Lucina’s cock. She pushes down until she can feel Lucina’s cock against the back of her throat. 

“Sev,” Lucina gasps, one hand fumbling for purchase on the altar. She blinks back frantic tears as Severa’s hot mouth works up a film of spit on her flesh. One hand grasps Severa’s hair, the other the altar, and Lucina stares up at the graven image of Naga, looking out upon them. On their sin, maybe. Or maybe she isn’t looking at all.

Lucina thrust, bucking her hips against the pressure of Severa’s mouth. “I-I-” she mutters.

Severa pulls her lips off Lucina’s cock with a wet slurp. She grins up at Lucina as the wet cock brushes her cheek. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “You can.”

Lucina shakes her head. 

If she is to sin, she will leap into the fires of hell full-tilt. “I want to taste you,” she breathes, pushes herself up and pushing Severa down onto her back on the other end of the altar. 

“Lucina,” Severa breathes, groaning.

Lucina wastes no time kneeling between Severa’s legs and pushing her robes up, enough to expose her cotton leggings and her own stiff arousal. Lucina grins and tugs her pants and underwear down in a single motion, opting to kiss the insides of her thighs rather than get right into it. Severa groans and thrusts her hips, trying to rut her cock against Lucina’s face.

Lucina playfully splays a hand in the short tangle of red hair above Severa’s cock, keeping her hips pinned as she kisses her thighs. 

She kneels between her legs on the altar, watching Severa squirm. 

“Are you unused to the attention, priest?” Lucina teases, kissing higher on her thighs.

Severa groans and squirms under her grip. “I-it’s a s-sin to pleasure oneself,” she mumbles. 

“Oh, poor girl,” Lucina says, “all pent up.” 

“Mmn,” Severa closes her eyes. “Please.”

“Please?” 

Severa whimpers and nods frantically.

“Say it,” Lucina kisses the bottom of her stomach. “I want to hear those perfect lips say those filthy words.”

“Please,” Severa groans, reaching down to grasp Lucina’s head. “S-suck my cock,” she manages to stammer. 

Lucina obeys. 

Severa groans and bucks her hips, thrusting into Lucina’s mouth. 

She isn’t Lucina’s priest, so the unmarried king has never divulged a sexual history to Severa, and she admits that she does not know of Lucina’s...amorous inclinations. That is to say, Severa is unsure how practiced Lucina is in the skill, but gods above, is her mouth warm and inviting. Lucina pushes Severa in deeper, against her throat, urging her. “Come,” she says, pulling off Severa’s cock and leaving it a twitching, soaking mess. “You said anything you have to give is mine. Come, priest.”

Severa groans as Lucina ducks her head down again.

She did say that, didn’t she?

Severa stares up at the figure of Naga above the altar. She closes her eyes. Maybe Naga isn’t here, and maybe Naga isn’t anywhere, but twenty years of religious schooling imparts nothing if not a deep shame about the idea that an omniscient being sees you in your most private moments. 

“Lucina,” Severa groans, bucking her hips. “I’m...I’m going to-” she can’t even finish the sentence before her arousal peaks, and she comes into Lucina’s mouth, hot and bitter and sticky on her tongue and down her throat. Lucina swallows her down, her lips gentle and tender as she pulls her head up. She wipes her lips with the back of one gloves hand and smiles. 

“L-Lucina,” Severa gasps for breath, heaving on the altar, her robes pushed up and her pants tugged down. Naked and exhausted in a post-orgasmic glow, in full view of Naga and the heavens. 

Gods, if her father knew.

“I’m going to get some more wine,” Lucina smiles, climbing off the altar and tugging her tunic down to cover her stiff cock. “And then we can see about you repaying me.”

Severa’s head thunks back against the stone altar, exhausted. 

After a rest, Severa manages to push herself up and off the altar, which she leans against while she wipes herself down with the inside of her priest robes. She sighs and reaches up to unfasten the robes and tug it off, leaving her in her leggings and sleeveless tunic. Her father had taught her a parable once about a priest who wore nothing under his robes, who found a man shivering in the cold. He took his robe off to cover the man, and, well-

Gods, why was she remembering that story now, of all times? 

She folds the robe up in her arms and rests it on the pulpit. It’s colder without her robe, and she misses Lucina’s heat.

Arms grab her from behind and tug her into an embrace, and then a kiss. Lucina tastes even more like wine. Severa makes a face. 

“Hey,” Lucina smiles, setting the wine down and wrapping her arms around Severa. She kisses her, hard, pressing her back against the pulpit. Severa groans into her mouth, whimpering as Lucina’s hand brushes her cock.

“H-hey,” Severa mutters, ducking back. “Careful, I’m s-sensitive.”

Lucina grins and reaches down, picking Severa up as she yelps in surprise. She carries her to the altar and sets her down on it before kissing her again. 

Severa sits on the altar and Lucina stands before her, and Severa wraps her arms around Lucina, tugging her into an embrace. It’s nice to feel her warmth, the heat of her body, a heartbeat against her. Severa slips her cold hands up Lucina’s tunic, warming herself against Lucina’s slender chest. Lucina tucks her face into Severa’s neck.

The playfulness has burned out like a candle. Severa’s fingers brush Lucina’s ribcage. She’s so thin. She presses a palm against her stomach. 

“Severa…”

“What are you going to do?” Severa asks, slipping her hands around to press her palms against the flesh of Lucina’s back. She can feel her sharp bones protruding through thin skin. And scars. So many scars. Severa holds her close, not wanting to let go.

“I have to go,” Lucina confesses. “You’re right. Our people need me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lucina mutters into her neck. 

Severa doesn’t realize she’s crying until tear soak into her collar. “Shh,” she whispers, slipping her hand out of her tunic and wrapping them around her shoulders, holding Lucina close. “Shh.”

“Do you remember the summers?” Lucina asks. “The time I fell climbing that farmer’s fence, and I cried, and cried, and you held me and patched up my knees?”

“It would be a lie to say I do remember,” Severa admits.

Lucina sniffles again and bites back a sob. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve thought about anything like that,” Severa says. She blinks and a tear tracks down her cheek. 

“Maybe we can pretend,” Lucina says quietly, looking up from Severa’s neck. “Maybe just once more.” 

Severa nods, and Lucina kisses her tear-wet eyelashes. Lucina cups her head, gently, and kisses her mouth. Her soft, guilty mouth. 

Severa kisses her back, hard. 

It’s easy to forget, with wine in her veins and a tongue in her mouth. There’s so much that can be forgotten like that. So much that would bring her to tears if she thought about it. Instead she cups Lucina’s chin and kisses her, again and again. Twenty years of missed opportunities, twenty years of buried feelings and uncertainties and uncomfortable silences, of furtive glances at noble dinners and brushes fingertips on long walks. 

If she had known the world was to end, back then, perhaps things would be different. 

She kisses Lucina hard, and Lucina pushes her back, her back flat on the altar. 

“Lucina,” Severa groans, tears rolling sideways down her cheeks and onto the altar. “Lucina.”

“I need you,” Lucina says. “All...all of you,” her voice catches in her throat. She leans over, kissing Severa hard, and Severa spreads her legs. Their leggings catch and fray as they rut against each other, desperate, longing, wet and sinful. 

Severa pushes herself up on her elbows and helps brace herself as Lucina tugs her leggings down and pushes her tunic up, and she leans out to kiss Lucina once her boots and leggings are discarded. The altar is cold on her bare bottom, but she doesn’t care. Lucina’s lips are warm and her hands are deft, skillful. Severa sits up and drops her hands down, fumbling with the bottom of Lucina’s tunic. She grasps the hem of her leggings and tugs down, pushing them down to her knees. 

“Oh, god, Severa,” Lucina cries, muffling her voice as she pulls Severa closer, their bodies into a tangle of skin and heat and sweat and arousal. Severa grasps the base of Lucina’s cock and massages it, rubbing her rhythmically to the motion of Lucina’s hip thrusts.

“Lucina,” Severa cries, back, tears dripping down her face. “I w-w-want you…” she gasps for breath. “In-inside me,” she manages to mutter.

Lucina nods, frantically, desperately, kissing Severa hard and pushing her back on the altar.

“B-below the pulpit,” Severa says. “Th-the anointing oil.” 

Lucina doesn’t need to be told twice. She steps back, allowing Severa to splay on the altar, her bare legs dangling from the edge. 

The oil is warm and slick, thick where Lucina pours it over Severa’s legs and cock. “Sit back,” she coos a command, pushing Severa back to pour more over her. The oil pools in thick, fragrant puddles on the altar.

Severa takes the small container from Lucina and tips it over, pouring it down Lucina’s legs, rubbing it around her cock, and Lucina twitches, groaning and hunching over at the touch. “Oh, gods, Sev,” she mutters at the touch.

Their bodies are slick and fluid, flesh and wetness against each other as Lucina holds Severa, pushing her back and spreading her legs. “Lean back,” she says again, gently guiding Severa.

Severa groans as Lucina’s cock pushes inside her. It’s slick, the oil doing its job as lubricant, but it’s not exactly a sensation Severa’s used to. She moans, loud, rocking back, urging Lucina deeper, deeper. Lucina obliges, grasping her hips to hold her as she pushes inside. 

Severa reaches up over her head to grasp the altar, to hold tight as Lucina rocks back and forth, thrusting into her. Lucina groans, her legs shaking and struggling to support her. Severa reaches one hand down to grasp Lucina’s hair and drag her forward, close enough to kiss if Severa curls her body in the right way. She can feel her hot, slick cock drag against the chest of Lucina’s tunic as she does. 

“Fuck,” Severa mutters, her voice cracking. “Fuck, oh, gods, Lucina-”

“You’ll t-tell me if it hurts?” Lucina asks, thrusting slower. 

“If you don’t fuck me harder, I’m-” Severa’s threat fizzles out a Lucina pushes into her deeper. One of Lucina’s hands drapes down Severa’s chest, tracing down her stomach and wrapping around her cock. She massages Severa as she thrusts in and out. 

“Fuck,” Severa cries, unable to stop tears from flowing. “Fuck, Lucina, oh, gods, oh- mnh, oh, gods-” She gasps out a sob and Lucina stops.

“Am I hurting you?” Lucina asks, pulling out. 

Severa shakes her head desparately. “Fuck me,” she groans, thumping her head against the altar. “Gods, Lucina, I need you to come.”

“I…” Lucina gasps. “I want...y-you, inside me-”

Severa nods and pushes herself up, weakly, gasping for breath. “Y-you need to come up here,” she says, shifting. “I’m n-not tall enough to-”

Lucina manages to laugh between her gasps and complies, crawling up onto the altar and kneeling along its length. “P-please,” she mutters. 

Severa kneels behind her, between her legs, and drapes one hand over her backside, gently stroking her slick, oiled flesh. “God, you have a perfect ass,” she says, bending down to kiss it.

“T-thanks,” Lucina chokes a laugh.

She groans as Severa clutches her hips and pushes inside her. 

“You’re so hot,” Lucina mutters into her arm. “God, could we have been doing this the whole time?” 

Severa can’t say anything, too concerned with not bursting inside Lucina. She squeezes tears out of her eyes and stares up at the figure of Naga as she thrusts. 

The gods might not exist, but Lucina sure does. 

Lucina groans and lurches, one hand on her cock and the other bracing her head. “S-Sev,” she mutters, pressing her cock to her stomach and trying vainly to keep her come off the altar as she climaxes. 

Severa groans and whimpers, squeezing her fingers into Lucina’s hips, hard enough to leave crescents from her nails, and she cries out, gasping and lurching as she spills out hot and warm and sticky inside Lucina. 

She collapses, spent, onto Lucina’s back, her cock still inside her. 

Lucina’s shaking arm can’t support both of them, and they collapse onto the altar, quivering, sticky, and exhausted. 

Severa pulls out, gasping at the release of pressure around her sensitive cock, her hands shaking as she sits back on the altar. “S-sorry about the mess,” she mutters, one hand trying vainly to wipe stickiness from Lucina’s backside. 

Lucina laughs and curls up, resting her head on Severa’s thigh. “I was going to apologize to you.” She closes her eyes. “I’m not sure what the scriptures say about coming on an altar.” 

“Honestly,” Severa slumps back on her arms. “Maybe this is a first in the sin books.” 

“Oh, I doubt it,” Lucina kisses her though. “People have sinned since sin as a concept.” 

Severa sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Yeah.” She blinks her eyes. “Gods, Lucina.”

Lucina grins up at her. “You feeling another round?” 

“I just came twice,” Severa groans, “after not having since I was confirmed as priest. Gods, I thought I was going to explode.” 

“You did,” Lucina teases. “In a sense.”

Severa playfully swats her shoulder before combing her fingers through the king’s tangled, sweaty hair. 

“Any chance your priestly apartments include a bath?” Lucina asks, reaching out and wiping oil from Severa’s hips.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy priest/king lucisev, I really cannot recommend The Weight of the Crown by @phrenotobe highly enough. It's really, REALLY good and largely inspired this. 
> 
> As always, if you want to say hey I'm on twitter @cowboy_sneep and on tumblr @lucisevofficial!


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